


You Catholic Girls Start Much Too Late

by victoria_p (musesfool)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Catholic schoolgirls, Cunnilingus, F/M, First Time, Pre-Canon, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 18:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musesfool/pseuds/victoria_p
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While helping his dad out on a hunt at an all girls school, Dean gets an education of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Catholic Girls Start Much Too Late

**Author's Note:**

> Happy (belated) birthday to Dean Winchester. Per [**this post**](http://musesfool.livejournal.com/1321425.html). Thanks to Amberlynne for handholding and to Luzdeestrellas for looking it over.

Dean's hunched over his bowl of Captain Crunch when Dad says, "You wanna take the car to school today, Dean-o?"

Dean looks up in shock, smile curving his lips. "Yeah," he says, feeling a drop of milk run down his chin. Sam frowns at him and he opens his mouth to display the half-chewed cereal on his tongue.

Sam's nose wrinkles in disgust. "Gross."

Dean grins wider and catches the keys when Dad tosses them.

"Okay, listen, I'm gonna need your help on this hunt, Dean." Dean nods and swallows, leans in close to show he's paying attention. "Sister Anne Francis is the principal at Our Lady of Grace--she's a friend of Pastor Jim's, so be on your best behavior if you run into her. A couple of weeks ago, one of the teachers at the school fell down the stairs. She said she was pushed, even though nobody was around when it happened, and Sister Anne Francis is afraid they might have a haunting on their hands. I want you to go in there and see if you can find any signs of a ghost."

Dean nods. He knows the drill when it comes to school-related hunts. "I thought I was going to, uh," he glances at the schedule sitting on top of the notebook he has no intention of using to take notes in class, "Newton High."

"You are. We can't afford Catholic school, and Newton is only about half a mile away from Our Lady of Grace. You can do recon after school."

"What about me?" Sam asks, because unlike Dean, he's actually interested in school, the little geek.

"You're at IS 234," Dad says. "It's not too far from Newton. Dean will check out the situation at Our Lady of Grace and then pick you up."

"I'm in sixth grade, Dad. I can take the bus."

Dad raises an eyebrow, but his voice is mild when he says, "You can wait for your brother to pick you up."

"_Dad_."

"You'll wait for Dean to pick you up, Sam. That's final." Even Sam knows not to push when Dad uses that tone. "You better get going. Don't want to be late on your first day."

Dean doesn't care anymore, too used to being the new kid every few weeks, but Sam scrambles out of his chair and finishes packing his backpack.

*

School is pretty much what Dean expected--he perks up a little when he gets to physics lab, but they don't get to do any interesting experiments, so he goes back to dozing and flirting lazily with whichever girls happen to be in his vicinity.

The bell rings at 2:45 pm and he rushes out to the parking lot like the rest of the kids who drive to school. He checks the directions Dad gave him, and then drives the short distance to Our Lady of Grace. Queens isn't like the small towns they usually spend time in--the two schools aren't that far apart, but because most of the streets are one-way, and Dean's trying to avoid the traffic on the boulevard, it takes him longer than he expected.

There are still a bunch of kids hanging out in front, and Dean can't help but stare at the groups of girls in their knife-pleated kilts and knee-high socks. It takes him a minute to figure out what's missing, and then he lets out a small whoop and plays a little drum solo on the steering wheel.

Dad neglected to mention that Our Lady of Grace was an _all girls school_.

This is going to be the best job ever.

*

He circles the block, getting the lay of the land, before he pulls into a parking spot around back, in front of a pair of glass doors. A group of girls dressed in sweats bursts out of the doors, chattering and laughing as they break into a run. Dean's too surprised to make it out of the car in time to slip inside before the door slams shut behind them, and he twists around to watch them run for a few seconds. A knock on the passenger side window startles him into jumping. He's glad Dad's not around to see him. There's a tall girl with wild red hair at the window.

He leans over and rolls down the window. "Hey."

"Hey," she says. "Whatcha doing?"

"Waiting for my, uh, little sister. She's in the, uh, French club."

The girl nods. "I'm Katie."

"Dean." He gives her a grin, one he hopes makes him look like Han Solo. "Wanna go for a ride?"

He doesn't expect her to actually say yes and get into the car with him. He could be dangerous. "I could be dangerous," he says, a little indignantly, thinking about the knife tucked inside his boot, the arsenal in the trunk (Dad doesn't let him carry a gun on school days).

"I hope so." Her grin makes his dick twitch.

Twenty minutes later, they're in the backseat of the car, her shirt is open, the cups of her bra are shoved down, and he's sucking on her nipples. Her tits aren't very big, but she does a lot of squirming and moaning when he licks them, so he keeps doing that. He has to shove a hand down his jeans and squeeze the base of his dick to keep from coming in his pants. He slides his other hand up the inside of her thigh, strokes a thumb over the elastic.

"Can I?"

Katie nods, her hair flying all over the place, her mouth open in a silent O as he slips his fingers inside and strokes the wet folds of her pussy. He's trying not to fumble around, trying to act like he's done this before (he has, but not as often as he likes to pretend) when she reaches into his underwear and curls her fingers around his dick. He moans and presses his face into the curve of her neck, silently repeating the won-lost records of the Cubs starting rotation over the past decade so he doesn't come on the spot.

"You have a condom, right?" she asks. He grunts a yes, then licks the skin just under her ear. "Then just put it in me already."

Dean swallows hard and gets the condom out of his pocket while she shimmies out of her panties. His fingers shake a little as he rolls it on, and then he's pushing inside the tight wet heat of her cunt. She gasps and goes all stiff and he realizes she's never done it before. That's even hotter than he expected, and he can't hang on any longer. He gives another thrust or two, and then he's coming so hard he thinks the top of his head might explode.

He collapses on top of her, and she shoves at him, her face scrunched up in disgust. "Ugh, you're all sweaty."

Clearly, her world was not rocked. He's going to have to work on that. "Look, Katie, gimme a few minutes and we can go again."

She shakes her head and reaches down to pull up her underwear. "I have to get home," she says. She gives him that wicked grin again. "Maybe tomorrow?"

"Okay."

She blows him a kiss

It's not until he's got Sam in the passenger seat, chattering about the honors classes he's in (at least he doesn't ask why the car smells funny), that Dean realizes he didn't ask about Sister Bernadette or the ghost at all.

Dad's going to kill him.

*

Dad doesn't get angry. In fact, he looks kind of amused, which Dean would be offended at if he weren't so glad he wasn't in trouble.

"Gotta keep your head in the game, Dean."

"I know, Dad. I will."

*

Katie visits him again the next day after school, but tells him she's not looking for a boyfriend right now. "School has to take priority."

"Okay by me."

Over the course of the week, he learns that she's told her friends about him, and they come knocking at the Impala's window when he parks it behind the red brick building.

Dean's recon is all-encompassing: Jean-Marie Dubois tells him that Sister Bernadette has a drinking problem (she's the field hockey coach and they haven't had a winning season in five years), and that's why she fell down the stairs, and Chloe Brunache tells him that none of the senior girls wants to be a virgin when they graduate. He also learns that Jean-Marie likes it when he uses his teeth on her nipples, and Chloe likes to suck on his fingers while they fuck. Needless to say, Dean likes everything they like, and is never happier than when he's learning how to make them wiggle and moan and come.

For the first time in a long time, Dean wishes he had some guy friends he could brag to, because not only is he scoring an awesome amount of pussy, he's scoring it with older chicks.

The only downside is that he hasn't found any evidence of a ghost just yet, but only because he hasn't been inside the school.

*

Dean cuts out of school early the next day, prowls around Our Lady of Grace until a janitor props open one of the back doors so he can stand outside and smoke. Dean sneaks in past him when his back is turned. He's got Dad's EMF meter, which buzzes and whines when he passes the locker room, and again in front of the trophy case in the front lobby, but is otherwise quiet. A bell rings and he ducks into an empty classroom as girls rush in every direction through the hallways. More girls than he's ever seen in one place before.

So many girls and so little time, all of them dressed in knife-pleated plaid kilts that accentuate the flare of their hips and curves of their asses. His gaze is drawn to the ones who roll their skirts, leaving long, firm stretches of thigh visible as their skirts flap while they walk.

Once everybody's back inside their classrooms, he tries to make his way up to the library, and gets caught by a tall thin woman in a blue suit. She's got a large crucifix around her neck and a piercing voice that reminds him of Dad at his drill sergeant best.

"What are you doing here, young man?"

"I'm from St. Ignatius," he says, remembering the flyers he'd seen tacked up on the bulletin board. "I'm supposed to be meeting with the events committee. We're planning the dance this weekend?" He doesn't mean for it to come out as a question, but nuns are scarier than werewolves, and this one's got sharp grey eyes that give him a close once-over that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up. He wonders if she's some kind of evil creature herself, and considers tossing some holy water at her to find out.

"I don't know what Monsignor Stone is thinking," she finally says, "but the meeting is taking place in Room 218. That means it's one floor up." She points to the staircase, like she doesn't think he'd be able to find it without direction.

"Thanks, Sister."

He books it to the back door just in time to almost knock over this tiny dark haired girl who smells like cigarette smoke.

"Jesus fucking Christ, watch where you're going," she says as she looks up at him. Her eyes are wide and dark and circled with smudgy black eyeliner, and her lipstick is a shiny dark purple. Her shirt is unbuttoned enough that he can see the tops of her breasts and the bows on her bra. His jeans feel tighter than they did five minutes ago.

"Maybe this is the only way I could think of to get you to talk to me," he says.

She rolls her eyes. "Lame. Look, you shouldn't even be in here. Sister Anne Francis is kind of a hardass."

"I told her I was here for the events committee thing."

"But that's not why you're really here?"

"My little sister goes here," he says, sticking with the same lie. It's easier than thinking up a new one. "I got out early and...." He lets the sentence trail off and shrugs.

"Come on," the girl says, grabbing his hand and leading him up the stairs near the back doors and into the gym. There's a class of freshmen playing volleyball in one corner, and a group stretching on mats in another. "I'm Donna, by the way."

"Hi, Donna. I'm Dean." The EMF meter gives a loud squeal and he shoves his hand in his pocket to turn it off. She glares at him and to cover his embarrassment he says, '"Wanna make out?"

"I heard about you." She pulls him underneath the bleachers and wraps her arms around his neck. "I thought you'd never ask." She tastes like cigarettes and cherry lip balm and she rubs herself against him like a cat looking to be petted. "I believe in being direct about these things," she says matter-of-factly in between kisses, unzipping his jeans and curling small fingers around his dick. "So I'll blow you if you eat me out."

"Okay." Dean's voice cracks and he clears his throat to cover it up. "Here?"

She snorts a laugh. "No, in a hotel room at the Plaza. Yeah, here. Is that a problem for you?"

"No, no, no. Not at all."

He sits with his back to the wall and she kneels between his legs, her long hair brushing over his thighs and making him shiver. She wraps one hand around the base of his dick and licks at the head like it's an ice cream cone. Dean closes his eyes and starts reciting baseball stats in his head again. He doesn't know why people in the movies do it, but it seems to work. He doesn't come the second she wraps her lips around the head and sucks, though he really, really wants to. After a few minutes, he can't think at all. Her mouth is small, hot and tight, and her lipstick is rubbing off on his dick, but he doesn't care because it feels like every nerve ending in his body has been electrified. He shoves up with his hips and she pinches his leg in annoyance.

He tugs at her hair. "I'm gonna--" he chokes out, but she doesn't pull off like he expects. She keeps sucking and swallows most of it down when he blows his load. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand (which she then wipes on the leg of his jeans, but he's too fucked out right now to care about spunk drying on his pants).

"My turn," she says, lying down on her back and pulling her skirt up.

He's never done this before, though he jerks off thinking about it a lot. He rubs her through her underwear at first, little black bikini panties that are already soaking wet, and the thought that sucking him off turned her on this much makes his limp dick twitch.

He hooks his fingers through the waistband and slides the bikinis down her legs, taking the time to feel her up. Her bush is neatly trimmed, and he can feel the little bumps where she's shaved, but she's got more hair than the centerfolds in the skin mags he steals. He's totally on board with that.

He dips his head down to lick at the soft skin of her inner thighs, breathes in the sharp scent of sweat and baby powder and _girl_. It makes him want to moan but he manages not to. He rubs his fingers over her slick slit and follows them with his tongue. She tastes like the ocean, and it takes him a couple of minutes to get into a rhythm. She sighs and yanks on his hair.

"Look," she says, holding herself open with her fingers and thumbing a small pink bump he hadn't paid much attention to, "here."

He nods and dips his head again, licking at the spot between her thumbs. She shivers and sighs and runs a hand through his hair in approval. Dean licks and sucks until she's pushing up against his face and he can barely breathe. He doesn't care; when she comes with a low growl, her whole body shaking, he thinks it's possibly the greatest thing he's ever done. It's like hitting a bull's eye and salting and burning a body and killing a werewolf all rolled into one.

He looks up at her and grins, then wipes his face on the back of his hand, mimicking her earlier gesture.

"Not bad for a first timer," she says, but her voice is breathless and has lost the self-assuredness of earlier.

"I'm a fast learner," he says, but his bragging is cut short when she pulls him close and kisses him. His dick is hard again, and she twines her legs with his, lets him fuck her while she's still coming down from her first orgasm. Her cunt clenches tight around him, and he fingers her clit while he thrusts, proving it wasn't an idle boast. She comes again, hips snapping up to meet his, and he lets himself go, heat and pleasure burning through him like a spark meeting gasoline.

This time when they're done, she says, "Oh shit, I gotta go. I'm late for a Student Council meeting." She shoves out from under him, fixes her clothes, and leaves him sitting under the bleachers, shell-shocked and well-fucked.

He ambles outside, too blissed out to care if he gets caught. He doesn't. He leans against the car for a minute before he gets in, goofy smile on his face.

He rides that endorphin high for the rest of the evening, ignoring Sammy's complaints about his cooking, his choice of television shows, and the crappy apartment they're renting. He's lost in the memory of Donna's body. He licks his lips, imagining he can still taste her. He pays no attention to the way Sam makes exaggerated gagging sounds at him, mouth pulled wide in a grimace, or the way he says, "Gross," when Dean tells him someday he'll understand.

Sam's a late bloomer, but that's okay. Dean's sure he'll get there eventually.

Dad's gone when Dean gets up the next morning, but there's a fresh box of condoms on the dresser, along with a note that just says, Be careful.

This is definitely the best job ever.

*

The next afternoon, Dean's there when the track team comes flying out the back door of the school, and he sidles inside, winking at the blonde at the tail end of the pack as she holds the door open for him.

He makes it to the trophy case in the front lobby without being spotted by a teacher, and once again, the EMF meter buzzes. He peers at the trophies behind the glass, the pictures of the championship teams, with Sister Bernadette standing proud and beaming beside her girls. He wonders if the two things are somehow related.

It's a working theory, anyway, so he slips back out to the car, disappointed that he hasn't run into any girls, but not wanting to push his luck. Luck is with him, though, because there's a curvy dark-haired girl standing beside the Impala when he gets outside.

"Can I help you?" he asks.

She spins around dark hair flying in every direction. "Ay, dios mio," she says, hand clutched over her chest. "You scared me."

"Sorry. I just--Are you looking for me?"

"You're the boy Katie mentioned?" He dips his head in silent acknowledgement and her mouth quirks in a smile. It makes her eyes light up. "Yes," she says, and then, immediately, "No." She twirls one lock of long hair around a finger, and even Dean can tell it's more nervous habit than flirtation. "I mean, I want to--I've never--" She huffs out a noisy breath. "Just forget it."

Dean gives her an easy smile. "I'm Dean," he says, holding out a hand, the way he would to a scared witness Dad wanted him to get friendly with.

"Beatríz." Her hand is soft and warm and sweaty.

"I could give you a ride."

She laughs. "I bet you could."

"I didn't mean--" Of course he did, and she knows he did, but he keeps going, "I mean, we could go get something to eat. I hear the diner across the boulevard has pretty good fries." He calculates how much cash he has in his wallet--not much, but enough that he can spring for a snack.

She takes a deep breath, and he notices that her white uniform shirt pulls over her tits, which look like they're straining to escape. He laughs at himself, because even if she agrees to go with him, she's too nervous to actually do anything, and he's not going to push. He forces himself to look at her face, and clearly she's said something he missed when he was staring at her chest, because she laughs. She steps closer, puts her hand on his chest, and presses her mouth to his. Her lips are warm and dry, and they part easily when he licks at them. Her mouth is hot and wet and tastes of peppermint. Dean can feel her trembling when he slips an arm around her waist and presses his body against hers. He slides his tongue along hers, slow and easy, and when she pulls back, he lets her go.

"I--Wow," she says breathlessly, her hand coming up to touch her lips, which are shiny with spit. "That was--that was good. We should do that again."

Dean grins against her mouth this time, lets his hand slide down to the curve of her hip, the wool of her plaid kilt rough against his palm. She's soft and warm and she smells like chocolate chip cookies.

He leans against the car, the metal sun-warmed and familiar on his back, widens his stance so Beatríz can stand between his thighs as they make out. He tugs at her shirt, slipping a hand underneath once it's free of her skirt. Her belly is soft and smooth and rounded. He moves his hand up, brushes the lacy underside of her bra. She gasps into his mouth, breath hitching audibly, and the sound sends a jolt of desire right to his dick, which is starting to ache with need.

She reaches down to brush her hand over the bulge in his jeans. "Did I do that?"

Dean's mouth quirks in a half-grin and he slides a hand up underneath her skirt, brushing the wet crotch of her panties before her thighs clamp together. "Did I do that?" She flushes and buries her face in the crook of his neck. "Hey," he says, "hey, it's good, it's all good, Bea." He shifts his hand where it's caught between her legs, rubs against her through her underwear. "Feels good, right?" She nods, face still hidden. He eases his hand out and takes hers, places it over his own crotch. "This feels good, too." She doesn't look at him and he sighs. "We can stop if you want. I have to go pick up my little brother soon, anyway."

Beatríz finally raises her head, one eyebrow raised skeptically. "I thought you had a little sister who goes here."

It's Dean's turn to look away. "Yeah, about that, I, uh--"

She laughs and kisses him again, her hand stroking gently over his hard-on. "I want," she says, "I want to, with you."

Dean doesn't even think of talking her out of it. He opens the car door and ushers her into the backseat, where they make out some more. He unbuttons her shirt so he can suck on her nipples, first through the cheap, rough lace of her bra, and then, when she unhooks it, skin on skin. Her tits are big and soft and they feel good in his hands, under his tongue. She's noisy, gasping in shock and pleasure when he touches her, soft Spanish words slipping out between her lips when he starts fingering her through her panties, louder when he finally pushes a hand beneath them to stroke along the silky wet folds of her cunt.

He pushes her skirt up around her waist and drags the blue cotton panties down her legs. "Bend your knees," he says, pushing them apart as he kisses his way down the soft curves of her belly, the trail of dark hair that leads down between her legs. He uses what he's learned from her classmates to make her come apart. He slips a finger inside her, and she tenses.

"You're so tight," he says, amazed. "Don't you ever," he pauses, trying to think of a way to say it that won't embarrass her, "touch yourself?"

She nods, staring at him with wide brown eyes, and then she gasps when he adds a second finger, sliding them in and out. Her hands flail out and land on his head, gripping his hair, blunt nails digging into his scalp. He thinks he might come in his pants. He reaches down and presses the heel of his hand against his dick, starts mentally reviewing the different types of ghosts and how to get rid of them, and leans into suck at her clit. Her hips arch up off the seat and her voice is really loud when she says, "Oh, my God." Dean curls a hand around her hip to hold her in place, and keeps doing what he's doing, slow burn of pleasure crawling through his veins.

She comes hard, arching up into his mouth and clenching tight around his fingers, her breathing ragged and her voice hoarse. He licks his fingers clean and pulls out a condom, slipping it on and pushing inside her while she's still coming, her body gripping him like a fist. He doesn't last long, but he doesn't think she cares, because he keeps rubbing her clit while he fucks her. He's pretty sure she comes again, right after he does.

They're both sweaty and sticky and breathing hard when they're done, but she doesn't shove him off the way the other girls did. She wraps her arms around him and strokes the back of his head gently, and he thinks this is worse, because he's not her boyfriend and he's not a regular friend and he's not going to stay.

He pulls away sooner than he'd like, knowing it's already been too long. "I gotta go pick up Sammy," he says, shucking the condom and dropping it onto the asphalt of the parking lot. He keeps his eyes to himself as he gets dressed.

Beatríz sits up, pulls on her underwear, and starts buttoning her blouse. "Are you coming to the dance on Saturday?" she asks, trying to catch his gaze now that he won't look her in the eye.

"No."

"It's for a good cause." There's a slight tremble in her voice but she pushes through it. "We're raising money for the families who lost everything in those fires a couple of weeks ago."

He looks up sharply. "Fires?"

"A whole block of row houses. Don't you watch the news? They don't think it was arson, though. They were old, and the wiring was bad." She sounds like she's repeating something she read in the newspaper. "Gillian Thompson's family lost their house, and she's a student here, so it seemed like a good idea to have a fundraiser."

Dean swallows hard, all the lingering pleasure burned away. "How much is a ticket?"

"Ten dollars."

He pulls out his wallet, thrusts a twenty at her. "Here." He'll have to get more cash from Dad to put gas in the car, but he thinks Dad will understand.

"So you do want to go?"

"No," he says again. Her face falls. "I mean, yes, I do, I'd like to, but I can't. I have family stuff." He shrugs a shoulder. "Look, I can drive you home if you want. We just have to pick up my little brother on the way."

She shakes her head. "It's okay. I'll take the bus." She slides out of the car, bulky backpack once again slung over her shoulder.

"Come on," he says, "I don't want to feel like any more of a dick than I already do."

That makes her laugh, wide mouth still swollen and pink from his kisses. "All right."

"Come up front." He walks around to the driver's side, and watches as she gets into the passenger seat beside him, still a little shaky on her legs.

The drive is less awkward than he'd expected. They argue about music--she wants to listen to the Spanish station or the Top 40 station (and there's no way in hell either of those is going to happen, even if she did just have awesome sex with him) and she rolls her eyes when he puts on classic rock--and then Sam is there in the backseat, chattering about his day and the book he's reading and the science project Dean's going to have to help him with, even though they're not going to be here by the time it's actually due.

"Thanks," Beatríz says when they arrive at her house. It's a row house, like the one they're living in, like the ones that burned down. It has a neat little patch of front lawn and four red brick steps leading up to the front door. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek, her face flushing.

"I'll see you around," he says.

"Yeah," she answers, like she knows it's a lie.

Sam tumbles over the barrier of the front seat to sit beside him for the ride home. "She seems nice."

"Yeah," Dean says. "She does."

*

After dinner, while Sam does his homework in the bedroom, Dad listens attentively and nods his head when Dean says he thinks there's a cursed trophy in the trophy case, and that's why the field hockey team hasn't won in six years.

"So, no poltergeist?"

"There are no other signs of a haunting," Dean says, rubbing at the ring of condensation on the table. Dad lets him have a beer sometimes, and he's drinking this one slowly, savoring it. "The girls say Sister Bernadette drinks. Probably because her team can't seem to win a game." Dad nods again. "So, what about those house fires? Do you think it's the same thing that killed Mom?" Dean tries to keep it casual, but he can't stop his voice from shaking a little.

"No," Dad says. "I thought it might be, but it's not."

Dean searches his face, looking for a lie, but he doesn't find one. "Okay." He takes another sip of his beer, which is starting to get warm and disgusting. "So we're leaving soon?"

"Tomorrow," Dad says, "after school. Caleb thinks there's a pack of werewolves down in Mississippi we should see to."

"Yes, sir."

"Good." Dad gets up and ruffles Dean's hair as he walks past, his hand big and warm and comforting. At least that will never change, Dean thinks. He finishes his beer and goes to tell Sam to start packing.

end

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Billy Joel.


End file.
